


City of Love

by ChamomileTeaPages



Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Banana Split, Carl has a nightmare, Carl has a pretty house, Carl knows Spanish, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Gay as hell, I thought this would be a drabble, M/M, Major Monogram is an asshole, Metaphors, Monty has a nightmare, Monty swears, Nightmares, Now it's the longest thing I've ever written, POV Second Person, asking someone out, ice cream date, lots of metaphors, this is all fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27017992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChamomileTeaPages/pseuds/ChamomileTeaPages
Summary: It's no fun having nightmares, everyone knows that. But maybe their fearful grasp can be tempered by going on a friendly get together (read: a date) with your crush.
Relationships: Background Vanessa Doofenshmirtz/Stacy Hirano, Carl Karl & Monty Monogram, Carl Karl/Monty Monogram, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Monty Monogram and Vanessa Doofenshmirtz, Vanessa Doofenshmirtz/Stacy Hirano
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Ephialtes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Uman_beeing_777](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uman_beeing_777/gifts).



> Well, brother, this is for you. You asked for a Monty/Carl fic with nightmares and I delivered. But then I kept on delivering, and, point being, I didn't expect this fic to get so long and for it to go in that direction. I hope y'all like it! I had a lot of fun writing this.

You walk in to see Carl asleep. 

“Aw, isn’t that just adorable!” you coo quietly, so as not to wake him. But even if you did, you’d think you’d still be right. He _is_ adorable, resting his head on his arms and drooling. His glasses are slightly askew and halfway down his nose. He whines quietly in his sleep, like a dog. He whines louder, and a tear snakes its way down his face. You realize, suddenly, that Carl may not be sleeping as sounding and sweetly as you had first assumed. 

You shake him by the arm gently. “Hey, Carl? Carl?”

  
He jerks up so quickly that even _you_ are surprised. 

“Hm….Monty?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes and fixing his glasses. “Is something going on? I apologize for sleeping on the-”

“Nah, man,” you cut him off. You can already see him shrinking back into his shell, and your lips pull into a frown. “It looked like you were having a nightmare.”

“Well,” he chuckles uneasily. “I was.” 

“Want to talk about it?” you ask, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. You fear it may be a wrong move until you see how he relaxes under your gentle touch. 

“Eh, not really…” he mutters, looking down almost bashfully. 

“Hey, that’s chill. Want to go with me to The Amore ice cream shop tomorrow at five?” Want to go with me on a _date?_ you replace in your head. 

“I....I’d love to!” 

You smile widely at his excited tone. 

“But, wait...P.M or A.M.?”

“You choose, I guess.”

He smiles mischievously, like an imp. “I’m gonna have to say P.M. I _hate_ waking up early.” 

“Me too. College has been kicking my ass _so_ hard with the whole waking up early shit.”

“I didn’t know you swore,” he chuckles into his hand.

“Well, you don’t know a lot about me. Do _you_ swear, Mr. Stickler?”

  
“Eh, I try not to,” he says. “Well, I really don’t have anyone _to_ swear to.” 

“Monty? Monty, where are you?” your father calls.

“Aw shit, I gotta go,” you say, in lieu of an apology. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow!”

You can hear Carl squeal to himself and clap his hands. 

“It’s a date!” you scream in your head. “It’s a _date_ !” You decide to stress each word and see how much faster your heart will thud. “ _IT’S A DATE!”_

Yes, that’s it. _That’s_ the sentence that will make your heart thud the fastest. 

“Yes, dad?” you say, looking at your father. You honestly don’t remember walking over to him. He’s as crisp and cool as usual. 

“Give Agent P his mission, would you? I uh...I need to go.”

“Okay....dad.”

You turn to face Agent P. He looks oddly tired, a plum-colored bruise spreading its petals near his right eye and dark circles like black crescent moons underneath his eyes.

“You okay Agent P?”

As your father walks by, he shoots you a dirty look and motions for you to continue.

“Uh, ok. Anyways, Doofenshmirtz has been spotted buying up all the apples, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, flour, cinnamon, cardamom, brown sugar, eggs, vegetable shortening, and butter in the Tri-State Area. I’m sure this dastardly plot will be very...dastardly.” 

You and Agent P stare at each other blankly. 

“Oh, right. Get to it, I guess.”

He barely has time to salute you before your father clasps you on the shoulder. 

“Monty, my boy.” He smiles at you, proudly. You don’t think you’ve seen your father smile so wide before. “You did so well!” 

You can feel pride bubble up in your chest, like the bubbles of a freshly poured soda. 

“Thanks, dad. I almost forgot to say, I’m gonna go out tomorrow. I’ll be gone from like five to around...I dunno, eight I guess.”

Your father frowns at you. “Monty.” 

“Dad, I’m not a child, I'm an adult. And besides, I know who I’m going with. I’ll be fine.” 

“I know you are, son. I just worry about you.” 

Whoa, where did that come from? Your father almost never expresses his feelings. 

You gently pat your father on the shoulder. “I know you do, dad.”

“Sooo,” he says raising his eyebrow. “Who’s the lucky lady?” 

“I’m not...I’m not going with a lady. It’s just a friendly get together with some guy I know.”

Your father shrugs. “Have fun then,” he says, and heads off to God knows where. 

You sigh quietly, making sure your father can’t hear you. 

“Sure, dad.” 

You wish sometimes that your father would _care_ more. You know he loves you, but you just wish he could show it more. 

You decide to head home, deciding that some air will clear your head. It’s chilly today, and you feel yourself shiver. Who knew summer could get so cold so soon? 

“Hey, Monty!” you hear. It’s Carl, face flushed with running and a black backpack upon his back. “I thought maybe we could walk home together?” 

Through his confidence, you can hear an underlying hint of insecurity. 

“Yeah, sure,” you agree. “You live here?”

“Around here, yeah. I live pretty close to the store.”

“Oh, really? How close by?”  
  


Carl pauses, slinging his backpack higher up his shoulder. “I dunno, maybe 2 minutes or so.” 

“So do I! It’s kinda annoying though, when my mom’s like, “Monty! Go get me some half-and-half!” and I can’t say, “But mom! It’s too far away!”  
  


Carl chuckles. You decide you love the low, rolling sound, like the clap of thunder. 

“Lucky for me, my mom doesn’t really stuff like that. She decides to go herself, 'cause I always but the wrong kind of half-and-half and she's fed up with me," Carl frowns slightly, picking at the skin on his thumb. 

“That sucks, man.” 

“Yeah, I guess it does. What college do you go to?”

“I’m going to Arwarde University. I was surprised when I got in, I really didn’t think I would since it’s so exclusive. You?”

He blushes and wraps an arm around his torso. “I just go to my local community college.”  
  


“Hey man, that’s chill,” you reassure him. “I went to one when I was saving up for Arwarde, and they’re pretty chill. I don’t notice a difference now, though.” 

You walk past a small, squat, one-story house. You’re blown away by how colorful it is. The walls are painted a dark, pigmented ochre, and carnation-pink dahlias and orange-red Mexican sunflowers raise their heads to the sky. 

“This is my house.”

You turn your head to Carl. “This is _your_ house? It’s so pretty!” 

He checks your face for any sign of mockery. When he doesn’t find any, he smiles widely, like a kid in a candy store. 

“Yeah. I painted the house and planted all these flowers,” he smells the dahlias with a contented look on his face. “You should have seen how it looked before. It was...how do I say this delicately? Incredibly ugly and bland.” 

You hear a woman shout in Spanish. 

“Gotta run! See you tomorrow, Monty!” Carl waves to you as he enters the house.

“See you tomorrow!” you echo and walk towards your house. As you walk home, your face flushes a bright red. 

You resist the urge to jump up and down and decide to think about Carl. The wind picks up around you. How are you expected to _not_ love him? Even his wave is cute! His hair curls in the utmost perfect way, his gorgeous emerald eyes are framed by glasses that even _you_ are jealous of, perfectly tan freckles that look like constellations upon his cheeks ( _has he ever tried to count them before_?), perfectly small lips, and a cute stature that on first glance suggests a mouse, but peels away to show a lion. 

In your mindless daze, you accidentally bump into Vanessa.

“I’m really sorry about-Vanessa!” 

You’re shocked, to say the least. She takes your proffered hand and pulls herself up. 

“Hey, Monty.”

There’s a slight awkwardness in her voice. The two of you had long broken up. She didn’t want to be in a long-distance relationship, and you honestly fell out of love with her. Things are chill between the both of you, of course, but it’s still odd to see someone you loved come back into your life. 

“So, how’s your life?” she continues.

“Uh, well…” you debate whether or not to tell her about Carl, and you decide to. After all, what’s the harm? “Well, I’m gonna see a guy tomorrow.”

“Like in a date way?”

“Yeah, I sure hope so. You?”

“Well,” she perks up, “I’m going out tomorrow! Like on a date-date!” 

“Oh shit, that’s awesome! With whom?” 

“Her name is Stacy. Here, lemme show you,” Vanessa pulls out her phone and pulls up a picture of a girl. She has long black hair adorned with a blue bow, dark eyes, and a smile on her lips. She appears to be of Japanese descent. 

“She’s pretty.” 

“I know, right! We just started dating a few weeks ago!” 

You smile at her. “Congrats! You guys seem really perfect for each other.” You’re happy for her, really. In some part of you, you love her, no longer as a lover, but a friend. 

“How ‘bout you? Who’s this _guy_ you told me about?” 

“Well, uh, where do I begin? We met at work, he’s an intern, and he’s really, _really_ , cute. He’s kinda dorky, I guess.”

She chuckles. “Well, I gotta go. I hope your “date” goes well!” 

“Damn, me too. Bye, ‘Nessa!” 

You continue walking, a large grin fixed on your face. Today truly _was_ a perfect day. Unlocking the door to your (uncolorful and cold house), you open it up to see nobody home. There’s soup (chicken soup, knowing your mother) boiling on the stove and your house smells faintly of cardamom and French perfume. You wonder where your mother is; perhaps at the store or at her friend’s home? Your dad is still at work. Probably. You slip off your shoes and place them by the door, leaving you in bare feet. You’ve never enjoyed socks; they’ve always felt constrictingly small around your toes. 

You head upstairs to your bedroom. You strip off your sweater and shirt and collapse face-first onto your bed. You chuckle softly to yourself, mulling over the day. Let’s see: professors rambling on about something you barely understand, briefing Agent P (seriously, _what_ happened to him?), Carl having a nightmare, asking Carl to go with you (on a date, your treacherous mind fills in) to La Amore ice cream shop at five o’clock tomorrow, catching up with Vanessa, and needing to do nothing else but sleep for twelve hours. You think it sounded like a perfect day. 

Your eyes close shut, and you drift off the sleep. 

You drift off to a _fucking nightmare._ How ironic. And not a nightmare where you are fucking, no, this is much worse. 

It starts off innocuously. You’re heading over to La Amore ice cream shop, your wallet chock-full of money. You’re walking, and walking, and walking, and walking and...you’re not getting anywhere. You try walking backward, to the same effect. 

“The hell?” you mutter under your breath. You turn your head to see your father, in all of his stony glory, glare at you. 

“Dad?” 

“I am not your father, and you are not my son.”

“Dad, what do you _mean_?” 

“Did you _really_ think I wouldn’t find out? 

“Find out about what?!” you yell, trying desperately to move. 

“You didn’t brief Agent P properly! How _could_ you?! You _know_ how important it is to brief our Agents! I would have expected better from someone who wants to work here!”

“I’m sorry, okay!” you scream. “You never taught me how!” 

You hear your father sigh. “You should know this by now. You’ve seen me do it a million times!”

“Well, dad, I’m not you.”

“You’re not my son anymore!” he shouts. “The Agency comes first, like it or not. It _always comes first._ ” 

You turn your head further to see your father place something into a long, circular, exceptionally spindly machine with a large switch. He looks at you grimly. 

“Goodbye, Monty.”

He flips the switch on the machine and you wake with a start. 

“Man, I fucking HATE nightmares!” you tell your empty room. Despite your nap, you’re still tired. You decide to look at your watch. Seven thirty-five P.M, huh? How is it possible you’ve only slept for an hour and you're _still_ tired? 

“Eh, fuck it, I’ll go back to sleep. At least I’ll be well-rested for tomorrow” you decide as you close your eyes and fall back into a deep sleep, the smallest of smiles appearing on your lips. 


	2. Ma Cherie, Je T'aime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty and Carl go to the La Amore ice cream shop on their get-together (read: date.) Then, they kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I didn't think this would take so long to write! But it was fun, I enjoyed it.

You wake up with a jolt and check your alarm. 

“Holy shit, it’s three already!”

If you weren’t awake before, you are now. Pushing yourself out of your bed, you stumble towards your closet. What the _fuck_ are you going to wear today? 

You rifle through your clothes. Tee-shirt, hoodie, hoodie, hoodie, hoodie, sweatshirt. Wow, why _do_ you have so many hoodies? Slipping on a pastel yellow tee-shirt. You choose a clean light blue hoodie to go along with it. It’s one of your favorites, only because of how old it is. You’ve had it for what, six years now? That's six years worth of memories. It’s a little bit tight but in a comfortably good way. You brush your teeth, dab some face cream on your face and neck, brush your hair and head out the door. 

It’s a nice day out today. There’s just the barest whisper of wind and the sun beams her rays down on you. It’s hot as hell today, and you’re almost starting to regret wearing a hoodie. You see Carl walking out of his house, shouting something in Spanish to a woman. 

“Oh, hey Monty! It’s a nice day out, isn’t it?” he shouts to you. 

“Yeah!” you shout back. “Mind if I come in?” 

“Sure, I don’t mind!”

You head on into his garden. 

“So, what’cha doing?”  
  


“You know, I think I’ve heard that before. Anyways, I’m gonna water these flowers. They’re looking pretty thirsty,” Carl examines the flowers critically. You sit down next to him and wrap your arms around your knees, examining him. He’s wearing a pastel green cardigan buttoned up to the throat and black jeans. It’s cute on him; it makes him look like a nymph. You’re half expecting him to do some tree magic.

Carl takes out a rusted watering can and gently dribbles some water onto the flowers. They seem to perk up instantly, raising their energized heads to the sun. You think you could watch him water flowers forever, however boring or sappy it sounds. He has this calm, peaceful look on his face, like all of his worries are flowing out of him and into the ground. 

“So, what do you want to do?” Carl turns towards you. 

“I dunno. I guess we’ll chill until five.” 

“What time is it now? I don’t have my watch with me.” Carl glances at his arm.

You look at your phone. “It’s four-fifty already?! How?! It was three like five seconds ago” 

“You wanna go now or do you wanna go in ten?” Carl asks with a smile. _He_ finds this amusing. 

“Eh, let’s go now,” you shrug. “If we go early, we’ll beat the line.” 

He pulls you up, wiping off his hand on his jeans. His hand is warm and soft. You’ve never known hands could be that soft. You regretfully let go, wishing he would take your hand again. 

You and Carl walk to the ice cream shop, chatting about school and grades. He pushes the door. 

It doesn’t budge. 

He frowns, looking at it thoughtfully. 

“It’s a pull door,” he chuckles, pulling the door open. A blush rises high on the apples of his cheeks, staining them a wine red. You laugh unabashedly. 

“Man, I think I would do the same thing,” you slap your knee with an open palm, grinning like a madman. 

He smiles back at you and leads you to the line. You examine the flavors of ice cream critically. 

“I’ll pay,” he decides. 

“What?! No!” you exclaim. “ _I’ll_ pay.” 

A thought crosses your mind. “Actually, how about I pay and you pay me back...next time?”

He smirks at you. “Sure!”

“What do you want to eat?” you ask, ruffling through your dollar bills. 

“How about a banana split? We can share and save money.”

You glance over to Carl. So _that’s_ what his game is _._

“Sure,” you shrug with faux nonchalance. “Beats spending more money than we need.” 

You order your banana split, taking it to a small plastic table with black seats. It’s surprisingly clean, for an ice cream place. 

Carl pushes your chair out for you, bowing dramatically. He then sits down in his own chair. 

“So,” he says, taking his plastic spoon and pushing some banana into his mouth. “What kinda people do you hang out with?” 

“Hm, that’s a good question. I guess I don’t really _hang out_ with anybody. Like I have friends, right, I just don’t really hang out with any particular groups of people.”

“Weren’t you with those goth kids? I could have sworn you and this one girl were attached at the hip.”

“Oh, Vanessa? She and I used to date a while ago. But then we broke up,” you say, scooping up some strawberry ice cream. 

“Oh, really? May I ask why?” Carl asks through a mouthful of whipped cream and vanilla ice cream. You pluck a maraschino cherry and frown, worrying the edge of your lips with your teeth. 

“We just sorta...ugh, what’s the word? Like, we dated, right? But we were better suited as friends than lovers. And, what with college, she didn’t want to have a long-distance relationship. To be honest, neither did I. I’d prefer to go for someone more... _local_.” 

“Mhm.” 

“What about you? What kinda people do _you_ hang out with?” 

He flushes slightly. “Oh, me? I just hang out with the geeks. I mean, it’s not really _cool_ -”

“Nah, man,” you cut him off. “Geeks are plenty cool. _Nerdy_ guys are cool.” 

“O-oh. Thanks. You’re pretty cool too.” 

The edges of your lips pull up slightly without you even noticing. 

“Thanks. What kinda hobbies do you have?”

His eyes glaze over in thought. “I guess I’m pretty artsy. Like I draw and sing a lot. And I’m really into computers and programming, but I’m not the best. How about you?” 

“Huh. I also really like computers and video games! Minecraft’s probably my favorite video game of all time.”

Carl’s face lights up. “I love Minecraft! It’s _such_ a good way to destress.”

You decide to take a risk. You pet his hand gently and say, “Isn’t it? There’s no rules, or responsibilities, or anything. Just...ultimate freedom.”

“Yeah…” Carl’s voice trails off and he wraps his fingers around your hand. He looks away, entire face red. Your face hot, you use your other hand to take another bite of banana split. Perhaps that will cool you down. 

“So, uh, a-are you dating anybody? It’s cool if you are…” Carl stutters out. 

“Nope. Completely, one-hundred percent single. How about you?”

“Me too.” 

You smile at him, your heart beating giddily in your chest. “That’s good.” 

He interlaces your fingers with his. “Yeah, it is.” His hand is warm in yours. 

You both sit in comfortable silence, eating the rest of your shared banana split. The sky outside turns a royal purple highlighted with gold and tangerine orange. 

“Hey, look outside.” 

“It’s pretty.”

“Yeah.” 

You glance at your watch. The clock’s nearing eight. 

“I think it’s time we head back. I told my dad I'd be back at eight.” 

“Alright. I’ll throw this out.” 

Carl throws out the plastic containers and your spoon and the both of you head out the door, following the almost-familiar path to your homes. 

“That was fun. I never knew how good ” he comments. Your hand itches to grab his again. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “This might sound kinda weird, but is it okay if I hold your hand?”

“Sure!” he agrees, taking your hand in his. You look over to him to see his face beet red. 

“Aww, are you blushing?”  
  


It sounds impossible, but his face gets even redder, like a tomato covered in ketchup. 

“I don’t know,” he sasses. “Am I blushing?” 

You take your other hand and gently press it against his face. 

“Yep,” you mutter. “You’re blushing.” 

He’s so _close_ to you. All you need to do is move one, maybe two inches closer to him and you’ll be kissing him. 

“Oh, really…” 

Carl’s eyes dart up to yours and he leans up slightly on his toes. 

You’re not sure who initiated the kiss, only that _you’re fucking kissing Carl!_

You place both of your hands on his cheeks, while he wraps his arms around your waist. 

“You know, I have wanted to do that for _so_ long,” he murmurs. 

“Same,” you admit. “I have had the fattest crush on you for the longest time.” 

“So what now?”

Carl presses his forehead to yours, bumping his glasses against your nose. 

“Well, uh..” You’re nervous, perhaps more so than you’ve ever been in your entire life. “D-do you wanna be my boyfriend?” 

“Monty,” Carl chuckles, “I have wanted to be your boyfriend ever since the day I met you.” 

“Well,” you smile, “I want to be your boyfriend too.” 

He purses his lips up to yours with a toothy grin. You kiss him back, your heart filling with song. 

“Wanna stay over at my place? I wanna hang out more,” you ask. 

He shrugs. “Sure, why not? My mom’s not expecting me back today.”

The both of you head to your house, hand in hand. You unlock the door to your house, finding it empty, as per usual. 

“Looks like nobody’s home,” you mutter. 

"That's usual?" Carl frowns, sympathetic for your sake. 

"Yeah, my mom goes shopping for things a lot and you know how dad is. Always busy with work."

"Man, I feel bad for you. At least my mom's home most of the time."

"Nah, don't feel bad," you reassure him. "It's just the way it is. Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman."

"Yeah," he smiles slightly, "she is. Now, let's go upstairs."

You bring Carl up to your bedroom and sit down on your bed. He sits down next to you primly. 

You wrap an arm around Carl (your boyfriend!) and pull him close to you, breathing in his scent. His cardigan is slightly ruffled and he smells sweet, like red raspberry shampoo and pomegranates mixed into one. 

“You smell good.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, eyes slipping closed. The sight makes your heart melt. You press feather-light kisses to his hair, his face, his brow. He sleepily takes your hand in his and runs his fingers over your knuckles. 

“I love you,” he murmurs. 

Your heart soars for the umpteenth time today. 

“I love you too.” 

You press a soft kiss to his cheek. He turns his head and presses a deep kiss to your lips, and then rests his head on your shoulder. You rest your head on his head. 

You sit there together, watching the sun go down. The sky turns bruised plum purple and you are content, more so than you have ever been in your entire life. 

“Ma cherie, je t’aime,” you say. You need to get it out; you need to tell the world that you, Monty Monogram, adore Carl Karl. 

“Ma cherie, je t'aime,” he says back. He tells the world that he, Carl Karl, adores Monty Monogram. The sun dips further down the horizon and inky blackness sets across the sky, bringing bright stars along with it. 

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Venus lies directly overhead of your home, in the precise location where the two of you sit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carl and Monty are so fucking gay for each other holy shit


End file.
